


rain on the roof

by acidveins



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Blowjobs, Canon Related, Dom/sub Undertones, Frottage, M/M, Multi, Multiple Orgasms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 15:04:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3574133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acidveins/pseuds/acidveins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i> It's Harry's favourite place—secure, between the two people he loves the most. <i></i></i><br/>(or, a relatively canon fic where Nick knows best, Louis' had a tough day, and Harry is their soft spot.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	rain on the roof

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stylinsonokay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stylinsonokay/gifts).



> Woweee! Happy bottom!harry exchange, everyone ♥︎ This is filled for the prompt given by stylinsonokay:) I know you asked for three Harry orgasms, but I could only give you two:( Hope you still like this, lovely! 
> 
> Warnings: Harry/Nick/Louis have an established relationship in this fic, just in case it didn't come across clearly! Also, this is not reallllllly canon but not _not _canon, y'know? Forgive me. I do not know what this is. Anyway!__
> 
> Title taken from Insomnia by Ellen Bass<3
> 
> Enjoy ♥︎

The one thing the world can agree on—simultaneously, perfectly, evenly—is that Nick and Louis aren’t friends. Or—they aren’t _compatible._

Nick and Louis are not friends, and it’s not because they’re too different—because they’re opposites like Harry and Zayn or something, no. It’s because they’re too alike. It’s because they both share the same taste, in whatever it might be. They both prefer tea over coffee and they both love to be greeted as the life of the party and, most importantly, they both love Harry. 

They both love Harry and that’s probably the only structural bridge between them. Or at least—that’s what brought them together in the first place. They love him, they care about him, and god do they love to fuck him. Nick and Louis both harbour an everlasting, evergreen fondness over him, and Harry’s the only person who knows this. He knows it and he _loves_ it. 

When they aren’t careful—when it’s a little too much of _HarryandLouis_ or _HarryandNick_ and not enough of _allofustogether_ —people mistake this as an inconsistency, they mistake this as a feud and it’s all—funnily enough—terribly wrong. Because when they aren’t careful, like Harry tries so hard for them to be, they don’t just love Harry—individually and silently and mindlessly—they _want_ him too. 

And there’s nothing more Harry Styles loves than the feeling of being wanted.

-

“Ah, Tomlinson, I see you’re late,” Harry hears Nick tut when the front door opens. Softly, as he makes his way out of the kitchen, he can hear Nick add, “As per usual.”

“Fuck off,” Louis mutters. As Harry sets the beer bottles down, he looks over at Louis and frowns. He hasn’t seen him this disgruntled since Jay called in about her newest twins. At the time, she had them worried about an incurable illness. Right now though, right now there shouldn’t be a reason for Louis to be upset. 

“Well, it’s not as if Hazza and I’ve been _waiting_ for you or anything,” Nick adds, painfully unaware of the way Louis glares at him in tender annoyance rather than the usual dismissive smirk. “Darling and I were planning on leaving you actually. Thought you wouldn’t show.” It’s not true—half of what Nick says is to make sure the light of the room isn’t too heavy, too drowning. But it gets Louis kicking his shoes off a little too loudly for it to be normal. 

“Nick,” Harry says gently, “hush.” He turns to Louis and looks at him softly, warmly. “Lou, you all right?”

It’s then that Nick looks away from the television—it’s that no-lose match between Liverpool and Manchester, both teams doing equally terrible—and turns to face Louis. Instantly, he sits up a little straighter and raises an eyebrow in uncertainty. Louis, in response, just sighs. He shrugs off his coat before making his way towards the couch Nick’s sitting on, placing himself on the opposite end. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just…,” he cuts himself off with a shrug and when Nick turns to Harry, he can see the hint of worry in them, the faint tug that tells Harry to do what he does best with both of them—comfort. 

“Wh’s it, Lou?” he mutters, stepping over Nick’s outstretched legs to sit between them on the couch. “Why’re you all wired up, babe?”

Again, Louis sighs and the tension on his shoulder look like boulders; like they’re weighting him down and all around, horridly at the same time. “It’s honestly nothing. Donny didn’t do too good on their last match and the team’s all revved up. They’re worried about another loss, which the Rovers can’t afford right now…”

“Oh, babe,” Harry murmurs, breathy and kind. He leans over to press a kiss to Louis’ jaw. “I’m sorry. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“No, you’re right, you’re right,” Louis mutters, more to himself than anyone. He lets himself lie back and, from where Harry sits, he can see Nick’s hand, large and veiny and gorgeous, make its way up his thighs. It’s a calling of sorts, a little pull of attention. When Harry turns to look at him, Nick’s biting his lip. “You sure you’re okay, Tomlinson?” Nick murmurs, though his eyes remain on Harry. He’s trying to tell him something; something Harry can only tilt his head at. 

“Fine, Grimmy. Turn the volume up, though, fucking tired from the drive here. There was traffic up to the _neck_ …,” he trails off, lets himself get distracted as Nick’s hand moves from Harry’s thigh to the back of his neck. It thumbs the tender skin there, fingers curling around the strands of long, unentangling locks. He tugs at the roots once, watches as Harry’s mouth falls open as a soundless gasp falls like open air on a windy October night. At the pull, Harry gets it; Harry gets it as he pushes into the touch and Nick seems to get it, too, because his smile, the small smirk-like one that caught Harry the very first time he saw him, makes its way up to the ends of his mouth. 

“Are you a hundred percent sure, Louis? ‘m pretty sure Haz here can help you. Help us both, really. Haven’t had a brilliant day myself to be honest.” He speaks to Louis and yet his eyes don’t leave the way Harry’s face flushes; the way he goes silent, agrees pliantly to whatever Nick and Louis want, whatever they need. This is what he does best; this is what he loves best. 

“What’re you—,” Louis turns from the telly, allows one glance at Harry and instantly, as if the switch Nick’s been prodding around with has finally turned on, he gets it too. And that—that’s why they work, really. Whether it’s Harry who crawls into someone’s lap ‘coz he wants someone to fuck his throat, or it’s Louis who wants his mouth on Nick’s hole, cock in Harry’s arse, or it’s Nick who wants Harry in the middle of the living room, unprepared, unabashed and honest, they make it work. It takes a tug, a look, a slight distance where someone catches up and they’re all on the same page. 

Louis manages a grin—small, very much like Nick’s—and he’s gotten a hand at Harry’s inner thigh. He leans over to peck at Harry’s mouth, quickly, before resting back. 

“Yeah?” Louis says, though it doesn’t matter anymore. Harry’s not listening, knows he doesn’t have to respond, and he lets himself crawl into the warmth of two hands—several hands—telling him what to do. “Why’s that, Grim? Finchy up your arse again?” Louis leans up to get his mouth round Harry’s lobe, his free hand resting at Harry’s neck, skin bumping with Nick’s. 

“Nah, he’s gotten permanent residence there,” Nick says, pulling at Harry’s hip till he’s settled on his lap, “just like we do with Harry, innit?” In response, Harry breathes out a giggle, mouth falling uselessly to Nick’s nose, across his cheek, down his brow line. He loves Nick; loves, loves, loves him. Loves it when Nick knows what they all want ‘coz he’s so brilliant and so smart. 

He loves it even more when there’s a shift in the sofa, an uncomfortable push at one end with no counterbalance, and there’s a warm body pressing into his back. Like that, he’s bracketed, safe. It’s Harry's favourite place—secure, between the two people he loves the most. Like that, woven between skin and lengths of gasps, he’s loved and he’s got the one thing he needs from everyone around him, always: attention. From the two men he loves the most in the world. 

Nick tilts his head to get his mouth on Harry, and they slide to his lips anyway. It’s wet and frantic and Nick pries Harry’s mouth open without anything holding him back; he nips at the skin, bites down hard enough for the blood to seep out the colour pink. 

“Nick’s right, isn’t he Harry,” Louis mumbles, his mouth back at his ear as he presses his hip against Harry’s bum, right at the clef of his two clothed cheeks. Shit, he shouldn’t have put pants on. He doesn’t normally need them; he just didn’t think they’d fuck so quickly, so abruptly. It doesn’t matter. He’s got two men to rip the clothes off of him anyway. 

When he takes too long to response—because Louis _did_ ask a question and typically, as Louis asks a question, Harry should respond—he’s met with another tug at his hair; a sharper, burnt tug. Something controlled but fueled. Something that makes Harry gasp out loud. “Did I ask you something, Harry?” Louis says into the back of his head, mouth warm as the breath curls around Harry’s neck, around his under skin, around his groin like a tied end. 

“Yes,” Harry grunts, face hanging back on Louis’ shoulder as Nick slides one palm down to his cock, hands still painfully over the trousers. “Yes, I—yes. Nick’s right. You—you asked me something. I’m so—I’m sorry.” It’s a little incoherent, a little too wet where it settles by the bone of Nick’s collar, but it makes Louis grab onto his bum and really— _really_ —that’s all that matters. 

“It’s okay, darling,” Nick supplies, and he’s looking at Louis. Harry can tell, from the way their hands synchronize to a stop; he’s speaking to Louis over Harry’s shoulder without saying a fucking word. “You wanna head to the bedroom, or should we finish off the match and our beers first?” Nick mouths at his neck as Louis cranes a hand forward to push all of Harry’s curls back, movements all tender, as if his boys are ready to take care of him. “We don’t have to do anything, baby. You don’t have to do anything right now,” Louis adds as an afterthought. 

Harry mewls at that, makes a sound soft and unhappy from the back of his throat. “ _No._ ” He rolls his hips forward, and then again, just to chase after the warmth between Nick’s legs. “No, I want—I want it here. Let me—let me help you both. Here. Right now.” As if to prove his point, he pushes at Nick’s chest until he’s laying as flat as possible, pushed to one of the couch. “I want Nick to fuck my throat,” he continues, fingers fast and nimble as the work Nick’s joggers off. Once he has one hand flat against Nick’s cock under his boxers, he turns back to look at Louis and says, in the quietest, slowest way he can because Louis loves it, “And I want you to fuck me. Let me get you both off. Please.”

“Sweetheart,” Nick grunts as Harry starts to work his hand up and down the length, “oh fuck.”

“Shit,” Louis grumbles from behind him. His lack of fineness, the stutter of his voice, makes Harry beam. He got Louis—he little shit with the large mouth—to shut up; to lose control. It’s the same with Nick. “Fuck yeah, Haz. You just—get your mouth on Nick, babe.”

“Fuck,” Nick says from somewhere below them. It’s all awkward and uncomfortable, with Nick sprawled and Harry on top of him, Louis somehow carded in there as well. But it’s also hot; the tight press of their bodies, the absolute heat in the room as they share the same labored breath—it intensifies everything, always. Makes what they do always worthwhile. “Fuck, you’re getting hard, aren’t you Tomlinson,” Nick grunts as Harry ducks down to mouth at the sudden exposure of Nick’s cock, unrestrained from its boxers. Just at the faint sight of skin, Harry reaches, mouth first, at the head. 

“Yeah,” Louis whispers back. “Fuck.”

“Bet you love it,” Nick continues because Nick’s a dirty bastard who can’t keep his mouth shut ever. “Bet you love watching Haz with a cock filling his mouth.”

It’s incredible—incredible how they don’t acknowledge him directly, but talk about him endlessly. Incredible how even when they’re having a conversation excluding Harry completely, he still feels all the attention on him. It makes him flush, makes him pull away to tug his shirt off, before he reaches down, one hand holding the base of Nick’s cock as he licks up the underside vein, letting him get harder and harder at just the sight of Harry. Nick makes a hissing sound, solid and sparkly, and Louis reciprocates similarly; with a thick sound, as if he’s got something caught in his throat when _Harry’s_ the one wrapping his pink mouth around Nick’s head. 

Harry grunts, once, before he closes his eyes and lets his jaw go slack. Nick knows what this means. “You—you’re sure, darling? So quick?” Nick manages to ask. Behind them, Louis’ leaning back on his heels, his own hand dipped under his trousers, wrapped helplessly around his own dick. 

Harry doesn’t respond. Instead, he pulls out, nuzzles darlingly against Nick’s crotch and opens his eyes just a little, just so Nick can see how much they’ve dilated to two black dots and a little too much want. “Fuck,” Nick groans and Harry lets that be the incentive to wrap his mouth around the head again. He takes in the length, lets himself take in a little more before he pinches at Nick’s thighs, tries to make him understand too.

“C’mon, Grimmy,” Louis says from behind them. “Fuck his throat. Look at how much he wants it, Grim, can’t have him waiting.” _Yes_ , Harry wants to say. _Look at how much I want it_. That must do the trick because it’s only one hesitant second later and Nick’s gotten one hand lost in Harry’s hair, his hips nudging upward as they chase the heat of Harry’s mouth. 

Harry closes his eyes again, makes a soft noise when the head hits the back of his throat, and sighs contently. There’s nothing he adores more, he thinks, than his mouth being used, his throat like a warm vacuum, made to make happy. It gets messy fast as saliva dribbles past his mouth and Nick tries to slow himself down, but it’s only when Louis decides it’s time to join that gets Harry’s own cock throbbing.

Louis gets two saliva drawn fingers into Harry’s arse, in one go, and it fucking _hurts_. It’s hurts enough for Harry to pull away, take a breath as Louis freezes behind, the pads of his fingers barely inside. “Baby?” Louis soothes, reaching over to run a hand down the pale expanse of Harry’s back. “You all right? Think you can handle two fingers?”

Harry closes his eyes. Of course he can. “Yeah, Lou,” he mutters, voice gone hoarse and low. “Please,” he adds under his breath, ducking down to press his forehead into the jut of Nick’s hipbone. There are hands carding through his hair and while he stays solid, one hand reaching forward to palm at Nick’s cock, he can feel the two fingers back beside his hole, slipping its way in. Harry intakes harshly, but his bum must have a mind of its own because he wiggles back, chasing the burn, the heat, the stretch. 

“Shit,” he hears Louis mutter behind him. The fingers probe at him, gets him loose and whiny, and he nearly loses himself when when Nick gets his hand at his hair, tugs him towards his cock. “C’mon, Haz,” he growls, “keep me hard. Lou gets off on, don’he? Absolutely loves watching you like this.” As he strokes the side of Harry’s face with the head of his cock, Harry opens his mouth to let it fall back in. It takes a bit of effort to pull himself together, to stretch his mouth wide, to hollow his cheeks, but he does it anyway. “Bet whenever you’re both on stage, being quirky popstars and all, Louis thinks of you with a cock down your throat. Isn’t that right, Louis?

“Oh fuck,” Louis says in response and Harry whines along with him. His body’s starting to tingle and his cock’s been disturbed for long enough, so he pulls out of Nick’s length, cranes his neck to look back at Louis, and presses his bum back. 

Louis decides right then to reach over and squeeze a hand around Harry’s ignored cock and—and _fuck._ The cock in Harry’s mouth slides right out and Harry can’t even acknowledge because he cries out with a, “Oh, _fuck._ Fuck, Lou.” 

“‘M gonna make you come, baby,” Louis mutters, bending over to spread kisses down Harry’s back; as if he’s seeing it, open and bare and so pale, and he’s got the urge to mark it all up. “Gonna make you come twice. Bet you’d like that, baby.”

Fuck. They’ve only—they’ve only played around with Harry’s cock’s stamina a few times. They’ve given him up to four orgasms in one go and that time lead to a whole day of prep and then a day after of sleep. Fuck, fuck, fuck…Harry doesn’t think he wants anything more. “Please.” He cants his hips forward, towards the heat of Louis’ closed, tight fist. “Please, please, please.”

“It’s not even going to take much, is it doll?” Nick mutters. “Bet Lou’ll get you to come so easily, the first time.”

“Yeah,” Louis agrees and they’re talking to him—talking to him _about_ him. “Bet you can come just like this, right now, can’t you baby?”

Harry nods, mouth hanging open with so much to say, so little air to say them in. “Yes,” he gasps out when Louis’ hands get vicious. They stretch him open, the gentle care from before dissipating to harsh, curious pushes. Louis’ other hand ‘round his cock is consistently hot and consistently moving; from the base to the head and straight to Harry’s head. It tugs every now then, reaching even further to fondle his balls, give them a squeeze of encouragement. 

But it’s when Louis gets _another_ finger in him does he scream out and come. “Shit,” he pants, thrusting into Louis’ hand and the sofa beneath him. “Shit, shit, shit.” His head feels heavy and he tends to get like this, he knows, all loose and soft after an orgasm. It doesn’t stop Louis from reaching over, keeping three fingers still inside him. “You all right, Haz?”

Harry just nods, movements all slow and toffee-tired. 

“Can you give me a colour?”

Harry giggles at how decadently soft and careful he’s being. Nick’s gone quiet with him. “As green as a lima bean.”

That gets him a small smack at the bum and a sharp chuckle from Nick. “Holy shit, I love you so much,” Nick says and Harry just grins up at him, giving his cock a small peck. 

“All right, all right,” Louis huffs, “d’you wanna continue then, Haz?”

“I do, Lou,” Harry says, loud enough for him to hear. He turns back Nick’s length and lets his hands wrap itself around the base. 

Instead of getting a response, the hand on his own cock retreats and Louis spreads his arse cheeks apart. It’s cold at first, the vacant, heady atmosphere of the room blowing at where’s he’s exposed, and the sharpness, the daring contrast it is to Louis warm, summer hands gets his sensitive cock twitching. Louis leans over, folding in on himself, and pecks at the pink and gaping hole sweetly. It erupts a giggle by Harry’s mouth. 

“Lou—,” his eyes widen as the pecks turn into the sure swipes of a wet tongue and—and _yes._ “Lou— _is!_ ” he squeals, unsure if he’d like a good rimming right then or if it would serve as more of a distraction. Fortunately, with a final brush of his scruffy cheeks against both of Harry’s cheeks, Louis pulls away. 

“Babe,” Nick coos at him, tracing his cheek. “Lou’s gonna try and get you hard again, yeah? You let us know if it’s too much, okay darling? Tell us if you want us to stop.”

“I don’t,” Harry affirms. 

“ _If,_ ” Nick stresses. 

Harry grins, moving according to Louis’ hands on his hips as they settle him flush against the sofa. “If.”

Louis easily slides two fingers in, getting Harry’s hole slick and wet, and it starts to feel like more of a reminder than a stretch and. And Louis’ been increasingly generous with his actions when he hasn’t come himself _once._

“Fuck me, Lou,” he says. His voice has cracked and gone hoarse beyond belief, eyes so wet and so trusting, it’s must be sin. “‘M ready. Fuck me please.”

“Are you sure, Haz? You just—“

“‘M sure,” Harry repeats. He’s not hard—not yet. But his cock has been twitching since Louis got his mount on his bum. “Please.” With the finality in his voice, he returns back to Nick’s cock, getting the head back on his tongue without a complaint. 

Louis smirks down at him, reaches over to drape himself over Harry’s back to whisper at his ear. “Whatever my darling wants, my darling gets,” he says and Harry merely smiles before turning back to Nick. That’s the thing—he’s got to give the two men he loves the exact amount of attention. Nick’s into dirty talk and Louis absolutely loves to get his mouth on arse, so Harry’ll comply accordingly. If Louis gets to fuck him, then Nick gets an ace blowjob. From them both, Harry gets love and kisses and a good dicking. 

So he’s folded up on the couch, long limbs minimized to the long stretch of his furniture, and he feels Louis’ cock right at the edge of his hole, hard and wet and heavy. 

Louis starts to push in slowly, bends over to hold onto Harry’s shoulder as he does, and the entire time, his mouth blurts out stringed curses of, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, _shit._ Holy _shit_ , Harry,” and Nick’s not far behind with his dark little grunts and his harsh hand on Harry’s hair. In between them, Harry’s small and patient and pliant. His eyes are shut and his mouth is full and in every way, he feels stretched out. His skin his tight on his bones and his body is tight between his boyfriends and the entirety of _him,_ of what he loves, is narrowed down to the way Nick’s cock hits the back of his throat and the way Louis bottoms out. Right then, that’s all he wants, all he is. 

“Jesus Christ,” Louis swears as his hips cradle Harry’s bum lovingly and his hands knead through Harry’s love handles knowingly. He pulls out once to shove in slower and only when Harry wiggles his bum back does he set the frantic pace. 

As soon as Louis starts, Harry can see tiny ringlet of stars lining up on his nose, by his eyelashes, on his face. It feels like _everything_ as Nick and Louis set a corresponding pace, fucking in and out of him as if that’s _it._ That’s all they want from him. 

He can’t make a noise because his throat is being used and he’s being held by hands around his hips, but the men above him make enough noise for all three of them. Louis and Nick have always been loud; in the way they are, the manner of their movements, in how they speak and love and _fuck._ It’s loud and abrasive and it takes over Harry’s head. “Oh fuck Haz, just look at you,” Nicks starts, “our national treasure you are. Taking cock like you were _meant_ for it. Fuck. So fucking hot, Harry.” When Harry blinks up, Nick’s got his eyes screwed shut. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis agrees from behind him, his calloused hands biting into Harry’s skin, “you’re doing so—oh _fuck—_ so well, o-oh shit. Oh, fuck.”

“Mhm,” Harry hums. He’s getting himself worked up and his cock is so _neglected_. Trapped under his body and the couch and there’s not enough space for him to rut against the fabric. It’s just a warm weight below him, crying out because it needs to be held. He’s already come, so the incessant movements aren’t the most comfortable; rather a little painful. He grips onto the base of Nick’s cock with one hand and lets the other move towards his own length. 

His hips rises as he gets a hand on himself and it elevates Louis’ thrust so that Louis is hitting _right_ at Harry’s prostate— _right_ where it starts to feel like magic. Like burt open magic. “Lo—,” his voice gets muffled with Nick’s dick, which is more of a warm weight on his tongue rather than an obstacle. “F-f’Lou,” he mutters out, throat burning. As Louis hits his prostate again, it starts to _hurt._ Because he doesn’t know—he doesn’t know if he wants to get hard again or if it’s going to hurt if he does. 

“Yeah, baby,” he hears as Louis lets go of his hips and leans over his back again. “That’s it. You take my cock so well baby, look so, so good.” Harry keens at the praise, feels them flush his cheek. The hand he gets round his cock is tight and comforting, and he can’t help but fuck into the heat. “You’re the best, Haz. The absolute _best_ at this. D’on think anyone’s as pretty as you, babe. So hot.” Louis’ just babbling now, getting words out without thinking them over as Nick lets out continuous streams of groans and grunts and whines; sounds that resonate with Harry’s skin softly. 

“Fuck, I’m close,” Nick mumbles out, hips lifting ever so slightly. “C’mon Haz, get me off.” Harry can barely think properly before he’s letting go of his own cock and using both hands to squeeze at Nick’s prick. He mouths around the head, takes it till his nose presses against Nick’s pubic hair. “Oh—o-oh,” Nick stutters before he lets himself fuck Harry’s throat unabashedly. _Fuck_. His cock can’t help it—it gets hard on its own accord as Nick uses his mouth however he wants. Nick gets in two, three thrusts before he comes with a cry, Harry’s mouth still promptly around the head. 

“Jesus, Harry,” Nick groans as Harry opens his mouth, keeps his eyes closed. The white stripes of come stain his lips and coats his throat; he knows it looks obscene, he knows it’s going to tug at Nick in the best way. And so, he smiles. It’s a small smile, a faint smile, but it gets lost as Louis orientates all attention back to him, and his cock up Harry arse.

“Oh,” Harry groans out, mouth suddenly free as Louis lifts his hips up. Nick is still under him and his face rests comfortably by Nick’s hipbones, and he’s in love with how compact he is. He’s in love with his cock being neglected and his body aching from the awkward positions and his mouth and hole—both being used and adored. 

“Let me hear you, baby,” Louis says, his voice crass. He gets one hand tucked into Harry’s hair and _tugs_. It emits the best response; they all know it. 

“Give him a show, darling,” Nick mutters at him, his thumb caressing the tender skin under Harry’s eye. “Thank him properly for fucking you so well.”

“Th-thank you,” he stutters, gasping, “thank you, Lou. Thank’y, Nick.” His head reels and he feels tightly on edge, the turn of his back burning from its bend, the roots of his hairs crying out at the glorious pain. His cock is leaking all over the place, staining the leather of the couch and straining to be praised. 

“Touch me,” he whispers into Nick’s skin.

“What was that, darling?” Louis asks, voice too calm for how close he must be.

“Please, Lou. Touch me, please. I need—I need it. I need to come. I need to come again. Please, Lou.” He feels a kiss being pressed to his head, to the back of his ears, to the honeycomb skin of his neck and he doesn’t even _care_ about who it is. It feels good and it’s from the two men he loves the most in the world. 

“Are you sure?” Nick asks. “Sure you can handle it?”

“ _Yes,_ ” Harry cries. “I need it so bad.”

Louis lets out a strained chuckle and when he speaks, the words feel stringed together; bumpy, rigid. “‘v said it be-before, darling,” he grazes his teeth down Harry’s shoulders, one hand hooking under Harry’s lower abdomen to lift him higher. “Whatever my darling wants, my darling gets,” and then he’s finally— _finally_ —wrapping a hand around Harry’s prick and it feels like _everything._ Right then, it feels like love, beauty, happiness, victory—everything good—personified, reformed. It feels like too much.

“Shit, Lou,” Harry gasps, hands reaching for something to hold onto, finding the meaty part of Nick’s thighs. He squeezes when Louis does the same to his cock. “Shit, shit, shit…fuck, _yeah._ Again, Lou, please. Please, I want it harder.” They’re all connected then—connected and Harry’s the barrier, the space in between. They’re all skin and warmth and touch beyond belief and it feels absolutely incredible. 

“I’ve got you baby,” Louis grits back, “and I’m so close. You’re going to make me come, Haz, you’ve got me so close. I love you, yeah? Love you so fucking much.”

“Oi,” Nick calls weakly, body spent and flat, “stop getting sappy, Tommo! You’re supposed to give Haz a good dicking.” 

Through a strained giggle, Harry mutters, “Love you too, Lou. Love you both so, so much—oh! _L-Lou!_ Again, babe, I-“

“Yeah, yeah, Haz, I’m gonna come; gonna make you come again.”

“Yes,” Harry hisses, “ _yes._ ”

He presses his teeth down on Nick’s skin as Louis tugs at his cock and thrusts in one last time, movements erratic and out-of-beat. It’s then that Harry comes, a weak cry caught in his throat, and it feels so, so good. So good and _so_ painful and so much. His cock spurts out weakly, spent and tired. After all that build up, it feels incredible to rut into the sofa, press his stomach into the lush leather, and _come._ His cock is oversensitive—maybe even a little mad at itself for coming in the first place. His body is taxed, lax and so tender. 

“Oh, _shit_ ,” Harry breathes as Louis keeps his uneven rhythm, voice gone grave, hips gone determined. It doesn’t take him long, not since Harry clenches a couple more times, and he has Harry’s name stapled to his mouth when he pulls out, fists at his cock, and comes all over Harry’s bum; over his arse, caught at the entrance of his hole, and even a little down to his sensitive inner thighs. Harry absolutely loves it.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Louis cries pathetically, getting Harry all wet. He isn’t very useful after an incredible orgasm, but none of them are, so once he’s done poking at the obscene red of Harry’s hole where white come licks at the edge, he flops back against the couch. 

They stay quiet, but only for Louis to catch his breath. Harry knows he doesn’t have to do much of anything, really, that Lou and Nick will take care of him from now, that he’s made them happy. So he sits still as hands start to rub up and down his neck and arm, as hands tug gently at his hair, as hands pick him up and carry him to their bedroom. 

“You did so well, darling,” Nick—it must be Nick—says into his ear. He makes a soft sound, stretches his arms and grins. 

“Thanks, Nick. I love you.”

Nick looks down at him, impeccably fond. “I suppose I love you too, popstar.”

“Move your fat arse, Grim,” Louis calls from behind them, walking into the bedroom with a wet cloth. “Gotta clean up our boy. You’re in my fucking way, prick.”

Nick makes a wounded noise, but moves anyway, dropping a kiss to Louis’ cheek on the way. “Stop with the insults, Tomlinson.” 

“Shh…,” Harry mumbles, turning his face towards the pillow. “You’re both so fucking loud.”

“See!” Nick hisses, though his volume has lowered. Harry smiles into the satin fabric of the pillow. “You’re disturbing him…asshole.”

“Shut up, Grimshaw. I’m tryin’a get him clean.” 

The wet cloth’s cold and it keeps Harry away from completely dozing off. Once Louis is satisfied and Nick’s already slotted himself to the right, he turns the light off and gets in himself. It’s still early, the match might still be playing, but when they all cave into each other, they’re knackered and disconcerted. 

“G’night,” Harry calls. There’s an arm around his middle and a hand in his hair and he’s never felt so secure. Never with anybody else. Never with only one of them. “I love you.”

“We love you too, sweetheart,” Nick mumbles, reaching over to peck the indent of his neck. 

“So, so much,” Louis adds before they’re all warm and calm and asleep. 

-

Nick and Louis are not friends, no, but in their own way, with Harry by their sides, they’re lovers. 

 

 


End file.
